Wednesday, 30 December 2015

1914-10-24mm


In Chicago a few benevolent men are supporting a home called the Parting of the Ways. Its expenses, which are extremely modest, are met by the annual contributions of a small number of firms and individuals. The object of this benevolent home is to get jobs for men who are down and out through indulgence in strong drink. A majority of its beneficiaries are graduates from the prisons and might be classed as the bums and outcasts of society. They are given a chance to reform, for it is the charitable opinion of the founders that no man is so far gone that a helping hand might not lift him out. One would think that in such a list the probabilities are that but few are worth saving. If a man evidences a desire to reform, he is given a chance. To the credit of even fallen humanity in the course of the past two years, in which the home kept track of them, at least half the candidates have made good. Should the unfortunate fall by the wayside, he is given another chance, and even the forgiving spirit is exercised by the board of directors and the manager even to seventy times seven. It is worth all the effort if now and then only one is saved. Its constituency range from the college professor and graduate down through all classes, even to the common day laborer., but many years ago, one of the Parting of the Ways converts was United States minister to one of the South American republics. He had served as secretary to the United States legation to Berlin, and was a university graduate who had earned the right by scholarship to write at the end of his name, M. A. and M. D. . From his high estate as a representative of his government in foreign countries through the use of strong drink, he had got so low as to be a prisoner in the Chicago bridewell. He was admitted to the home and for some months hopes were entertained of his reformation. He served as an official in the home to help pay his expenses, but one unfortunate day, he fell by the wayside. What hope for his escape from the booze when nearly every other door in the business part of the city leads to a saloon? He was not the only unfortunate to fall, but the managers again threw him the lifeline, and at the latest report, he had again taken his seat on the water wagon. A railway telegrapher was put on the blacklist for tossing up with the company for the odd change in the daily receipts at his office. The company proved it on him, and he served time. After his release, he was down and out. He sought refuge in the home, where he was cured of the drink habit. Notwithstanding that his name was on the blacklist of every railroad office in the country, the men connected with the home interested themselves in his behalf, got him a job on a western road, and today he is a divisionsuperintendent on one of the railwys entering Chicago. Booze ade him dishonest in the first place, and his craving for drink so overpowered him that he could not tell the difference between the company’s money and his own. One who is now a prosperous merchant in Chicago travelled the booze route till he had got so low in the sacle that his family had to leave him. He became literally down and out, and the bridewell was his home for many a term. Some friends interested themselves in him, and one day when he was released from the bridewell, after having served one of his periodic terms, they obtained admission for him to the Parting of the Ways home. It was a long fight with old John Barleycorn, but the man entered upon it determined to win out. Now he has a prosperous business of his own, he made a home for his reunited family, and he makes frequent visits to the home, taking his family with him in his own motor car, and he always makes a speech of encouragement to his old comrades in the down and out class, and in pointing to his own case asks if it is not worth staying on the eater wagon for. The men who have reformed through the influence of the home are among the most liberal contributors to its support.

 

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Don’t understand from what was have written that any large percentage of the inmates of the home are college graduates or business men who have gone down through strong drink. The majority of them are professional bums who are apparently beyond any hope of saving. The superintendent of the home keeps track of the inmates for two years after leaving the home, and effort is made to keep them on the jobs. Somewhere we are told that Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do, and if you want to convert a man from his habits, keep him busy. A discharged prisoner from the bridewell is always welcome so long as he gives evidence of a desire to do better, but the manager is wise enough to know that such people are not saints and are not proof against the allurements of the warm barroom and the free lunch counter. They are never turned from the doors of the home hungry, and if their clothing is threadbare, they are furnished with warm suits to protect them from the winter’s blasts. The bums keep out of the city in the summer months, but when the chilly days of October come, they hike to the city and the warmth of the police station at night. The generous men and women of Chicago keep the superintendent of the home well-supplied with warm second hand clothing, so that there is but little need to call for help. No man is kept in the home any longer than is necessary to get him a job. When a man is sent from the home to work, his employer is furnished with a full history of his record. The superintendent of the bridewell says that a fully 75 per cent of the graduates from the Parting of the Ways home make good under these circumstances. So long as they stay on the water wagon, they are safe and there is hope for their reformation. It is a question that has bothered the benevolently inclined, what is the best thing to do? Nearly every day unfortunate women are raided and hailed before the magistrate because of their impure lives. They are fined and turned loose to replenish their depleted pocket-books, to be arrested over and over again. The fine does not reform them nor does a term in prison have any effect. It used to be told that away back in the ‘60s, whenever the city exchequer got so low that there was no money to pay the policemen, a raid would be made on the houses of prostitution, and kind-hearted olf Captain Armstrong would make the fine as light as possible and tell the unfortunates inmates to go and sin no more. There is a suggestion in the Parting of the Ways home of Chicago for Hamilton temperance workers to consider.

 

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 It is always darkest before the dawn, and let us hope that with sunrise will come the brighter day for Canada, and for own city of Hamilton. Already the darkness begins to disappear, and the apparent hard times will soon be forgotten when once the wheels of industry begin again to revolve. The biggest factory in Hamilton, the International Harvester, that has been closed for many weeks, has again opened its doors to five hundred of its former employees and the prospects are that in the near future, the doors will open a little wider to admit other hundreds. The managers are very generously providing on the start to give employment to men of families, and when that class are all back in their old places, then the single men are to have a look in.

The Westinghouse company has been doing the best it possibly could do for its workmen, and on the principle that half a loaf was better than no bread , it has kept the workers going on shorter hours. But things are getting better, and an hour or more is added to the day’s work. The same condition exists in other large factories, and the hope is that the winter will not be so dreary to the workingmen and their families as was feared a few weeks ago.

The cotton mills and the knitting mills are running nearly full time, and thousands of girls depending on those mills feel quite cheerful at the prospect that the government demand for the goods made by them will increase. The army must be supplied with clothing of all kinds, and Canada will get its share of the orders from the government. The wholesale clothing manufacturers are working overtime to fill their orders, especially for military clothing, and the thousands of men and women at work in these factories don’t know the meaning of the words, Hard Times. The shoe factories of Canada are rushed with work to supply army contracts. Marching men wear out a deal of leather.

The board of control and the city council are doing everything possible to provide work for the unemployed laborers; and the danger is that outsiders will take advantage and slip in between the actual residents of the city. Ample provision is being made so that there will not be a man, woman or child go hungry during the winter. The benevolence of the people of Hamilton is proverbial. The hoboes and summer tourists have already learned of the provision being made, and they are marching on to capture the good things provided for the deserving ones.

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Those whom the gods would destroy are the first to put their foot in it. Germany was prosperous in its manufacturing industries and its chemical researches, but all has been knocked into a cocked hat, and other nations will now benefit by Germany’s loss by way of business. It is now Canada’s opportunity to come to the front., and instead of its moneyed men investing their capital in Mexican and South American schemes, if they will put it in machinery to cover what Germany used to make, this may yet become a great manufacturing country. The other day the writer asked one of the proprietors of a Hamilton knitting mill why Canadian knitters did not enter into competition for Germany’s hosiery trade, and his reply was that they would have to change the make of their machinery at a big expense, and then when the war was over, Germany would again recapture the market. Certainly that is poor policy for a country like Canada that is now making its way to becoming an industrial center. Strike while the iron is hot.

We repeat again that it is always darkest before the dawn, and while the sun is now beginning to peep from behind the cloud, let those who are longing for the promised land and the whirring of machinery take courage that from indications the time is not far distant when the welcome sound of the seven o’clock whistle in the morning will be the summons to a full day’s work and a fat pay envelop at the end of the week. It’s a long, long way to Tipperary, but Hamilton will get there.

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A friend handed us a copy of an old Canadian directory of 1851-52, in which is a complete list of every village, town and city of the old-time designated Upper and Lower Canada. A brief description of Hamilton is given when it is just emerging from the dog kennel days, and when Wellington street was the limit on the east and the Bowery on the west. Here it is : “The city of Hamilton is situated on Burlington bay, at the head of Lake Ontario, and of the river St. Lwrence and Lake Ontario navigation, in the township of Barton, county of Wentworth, C. W. Hamilton is the county town nof the united counties of Wentworth and Halton, and is also an electoral district, returning one member to the provincial parliament. The city has been greatly improved within the past few years, and is most favorably situated for trade, being in the center of one of the finest agricultural districts in Canada; and when the Great Western railway, now in process of construction, is completed, it must necessarily conduce to the still greater prosperity of the city. Hamilton is distant from Kingston 226 miles – usual steamboat fare 7s 6d. London, 84 miles – usual stage fare 17s  6d. Population by the census of 1850, 10, 312.” That was before the days of railroads, the only road in Canada being from LaPrairie (opposite Montreal) to St. John, a distance of about fourteen miles.

In those days, Hamilton was governed by a mayor and two aldermen from each of the five wards – John R. Holden was then mayor. It may be interesting to know the number and kind of business houses in the city in 1851-52. To begin with there were ten academies and private schools. The first public school, the Central, was not opened until 1853. There were four architect firms, three building societies, 7 auctioneers, 7 bakers and 2 confectioners, 8 book and stationary stores, 19 boot and shoemakers, 1 brewery and 1 distillery, 14 cabinet and upholstery establishments, 21 carpenters and builders, 6 drug stores, 5 carriage factories, 10 commission merchants, 4 dentists, 10 wholesale dry goods firms and 19 retail dry goods firms, 7 foundries and machine shops, 32 wholesale and retail grocers, nearly all of whom made liquor a specialty, 10 hardware stores, 4 hat and fur stores, 10 jewelry stores,2 tanneries and 5 dealers in leather, 16 merchant tailors and clothiers, 6 milliners and dressmakers, 5 newspaper and job offices and 2 independent job offices, 15 doctors, and only one of the number a homeopath, 10 tinsmirths, 2 cigar factories, 13 painters, 2 organ builders, and 2 daguerreotype artists.

Buchanan, Harris and company and C. J. Ferrie and company did business under the title of general merchants, and ranked in the list of the largest wholesale houses in Canada. Albert Bigelow and James Cummings were the principal wholesale dealers in china, glassware etc.

It took 46 dealers in books to quench the thirst of the ten thousand Hamiltonians of those days, besides the 32 grocers who made liquor a leading part of their trade.

Fourteen ministers, representing five denominations, looked after the spiritual wants of Hamilton, and the churches were generally well filled on the Sabbath. The whole family went to church in those primitive days, father, mothers and all the children, even to the baby.

To cleanse and light the ancient Hamiltonians, there was but one soap and candle factory, of which John Judd was the owner. There may have been a few smaller industries, but nothing of great value as a work producer. There was not much demand for labor and very small pay for what was done. Hamilton of today has over 100,000 population and over 400 industrial establishments to employ labor. For more than fifteen years, there has been work and good wages  for everybody till within the last few months. The population has  doubled within that time and the area of the town has extended east and west for miles in both directions.

Sixty-three years ago, Canada depended upon steamboats and stage coaches as the modes of travel. Hamilton had its fleet of steamboats arriving at the docks morning and evening, and its lines of stage coaches running in every direction. Even Brantford  was connected by water with Buffalo, for twice a week the steamer Experiment made the round trip to Dunnville and Cayuga, and then the steamer Queen took the passengers on to Caledonia  and Brantford and other villages on the Grand river. The fare from Buffalo to Brantford was $3 for the cabin and $2 on the deck. Dundas, then a population of 2,500, had two breweries, and a general assortment of business houses, some of them quite extensive. Jones and Harris were the publishers of the Warder, the only newspaper in town.

 

 

Friday, 4 December 2015

1905-02-25


Spectator February 25, 1905

(Partial)

        History repeats itself almost every day in Hamilton. In looking over an old copy of the Spectator, we find that 51 years ago tonight, the City Council held a meeting to fix salaries of city officials for the year 1854.  As this question of salaries is now before the council and Ald. Witton is preparing a scale for the current year, it may be interesting to the present generation of Hamiltonians to know how small the emolument of city officers were half a century ago. The council was then composed of aldermen and councilors, and all but three or four have crossed the river of death. Robert McElroy was mayor, having been elected for a third term. The aldermen were Patterson, Mullin, Mitchell, Murison, Davis, Chisholm, William Edgar, Magill and Crawford; councilors, Armstrong, Copp, Nicholson, Quimby, Tuckett, Fitzpatrick, Matthews and Charlton. On motion of Councillor, Copp, seconded by Ald. Edgar, the salary list for 1854 was passed, as follows:

          Chamberlain                                                                   $1,000

          Clerk, for do                                                                              450

          City Clerk                                                                                 1,000

          Clerk, for do                                                                           300  

          Police Magistrate                                                                 1,000

          Manager for Waterworks                                                         1,000     

          Clerk for Waterworks                                                               300

          Collector for Waterworks                                                         200

          High Bailiff, with house, fuel, etc.                                                         400

          Chief of police, with house, fuel, etc.                                        500

          Deputy chief, with free house                                                   350

          Six policemen, each $200                                                    $1,200

          Machinist                                                                                   100

          Inspector of Weights and Measures                                            50

          License Inspector                                                                       400

          City Messenger                                                                          250

          Hospital Physician                                                                        400

          Hospital Superintendent                                                             250               

          Hospital Matron                                                                            90       

          House of Refuge Superintendent                                               200

          Foreman Waterworks                                                                 400

          Engineer Waterworks                                                                 250

          Fireman Waterworks                                                                  250

          Keeper of Reservoir                                                                    200

          Keeper  of Filtering Basin                                                            200

          Keeper of Prisoners at jail                                                           250

          It was very evident that the council of 1854 was living up to the precepts of an old-time Methodist congregation that did not believe in making their pastor purse-proud by giving him too much salary, so the official board fervently prayed that the Lord would keep him humble and the congregation would keep him poor. Probably one reason may be given for the small amounts voted to some of the officials was that at the time the city exchequer was in a very low condition, and the creditors of the city were clamoring for their money. At that time, there was what was known as the Municipal Loan Fund, from which municipalities in financial difficulties could borrow money from the government to help them pull through. Sir Issac Buchanan, who then represented Hamilton in the provincial parliament, made application, on behalf of the city, for a loan from this fund, and he was told by Sandfield McDonald that there was no such fund; yet, George Brown, editor of the Globe, secured a gift of $13,000, to help pay the cost of building the Toronto jail. The Globe was always hostile to Hamilton.

 

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          A story is told by one of the largest grain buyers in Hamilton, which happened early in the 50s. He prided himself on his smartness, and when he got the worst of it in a grain transaction, the other buyers made considerable sport of him. The grain buyer got stuck on 200 bushels of barley by a cute farmer, who had one bag of splendid grain, which he showed as a sample, but when the buyer examined the lot after it was dumped in the warehouse bins he discovered that he had been duped by the farmer. However, he determined to quietly pocket his loss and sold the damaged barley in one of the city brewing establishments at a low figure. When the brewer examined the barley, after it had been delivered at the brewery, he concluded he could do better with it by converting it into malt, and he had it dried and fixed up for market. The brewer hired a farmer to haul the barley to the Gore, which was then the grain market, and as barley was scarce in the market and there was a good demand for it, there was brisk competition among the buyers. The buyer who sold it to the brewer bid the highest, and he got back his own barley at 34 cents a bushel, twice the sum for which he had sold it to the brewer. The joke was too good to keep and the brewer and the other buyers had the laugh on John. For years afterward John would get swearing mad at anyone who would ask him, “how is barley?”

 

 

                                 

 

 

Tuesday, 24 March 2015

1914-07-18


The real old Hamilton boys who left here fifty and sixty years ago, and in all that time never set eyes on the old town, are dropping in one by one before they shuffle off this mortal coil.  We have had quite a number coming back to what they supposed was the old time village at the Head of the Lake and instead of rural roads and cow pastures they find a handsome city of 100,000, with over 400 large factories in place of four or five stove foundries, a planning mill and two or three carriage shops.  They rub their eyes as they look around.  Everything has changed, even to the smart looking policemen who are now pounding a beat on King street instead of good old Peter Ferris, Donald Dawson, Sergeant McGlogan, Dick Powers, Chief Carruthers and other French counts from Tipperary and Connaught, who were the guardian angels of Hamilton away back 60 years ago.  And the old boys who have come back to the home of their boyhood show some signs of increasing years; but what else can you expect from men who have passed the allotted years of three score and 10?  It was an old-time printer who wandered back after many years of the wanderlust. Not that he has been tramping as a typo; far from it!  He is now living in a most fashionable quarter of easy street, in Cleveland, Ohio, the home of John D. Rockefeller, and while he does not count his millions, like John, he has to have a new pair of shears every now and then to replace the old ones worn out in clipping coupons.  It is a glimpse of sunshine to meet these old boys and know that prosperity has been loafing on their doorsteps.
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 Sydney W. Gilles was born in England in the year 1846, and came to Hamilton in 1861 with his mother and the other children. His father died in the old land.  He was a poet and a dreamer, and for many years was connected with the editorial staffs of Dickens’ Household Words as a writer. Sydney remembers the great author, having met him in the office of Household Words, and it is a pleasant thought to him that his father was part of that magazine.  Sydney had one brother, three years older than himself, named Charles T. Gilles.  Both of them attended the Central school when it first opened with Dr. Sangster as headmaster.  Sydney Gilles, or “Sid,” as he is better known to the old-timers, after graduating from school, drifted into the Dundas Banner offices, a while after James Somerville became the editor, chief typesetter and Washington hand pressman, and under that master of the printers’ art Sid took his first lessons at the roller. His Brother Charles also took a rudimentary course in the Banner, but finally learned the book-binders art under Alexander Mars, whose son is yet in the business in a shop on Rebecca street. When Sid had learned all that could be taught him by Mr. Somerville, he started out on a pedestrian tour are, and footsore and weary after his 5 miles of tramping, he landed in 1863, in the old Canada Christian Advocate, then under the management of the Rev. George Abbs, with George Roberts as foreman.  Now, this old Muser has a fellow feeling for any printer, be he boy or man, who ever worked in the Advocate offices, for we drifted it into it in 1855, and served a couple of years at $2.50 a week, and got our pay when the editor, the Rev. Gideon Shepard, was in funds.  It was a remarkable thing that in those days, no matter how good a workman one was, a boy’s wages never got beyond $2.50 or $3.00 a week.  Well, it may not have been so much out of the way after all, when first-class journeymen got only $7.00 a week.  It was not kill 1864, after the first printers union was organized, that a jump in the scale was made to $9.00 a week, and every blessed one of them wanted to get married and settle down to housekeeping.  $9.00 a week were not to be hooted at in those days, when one could rent a palatial cottage for $3 a month in buy beefsteak at five cents a pound.  But there was one drawback even in those halcyon days; one was not always sure of getting his wages on Saturday night, but had to take store orders instead.  Well, Sid Gilles had a taste of those days in the old Advocate, and getting tired of it, he hiked out to Buffalo and remained there just long enough to raise a stake and try it elsewhere.  He tried New Orleans and other large cities, but he was not yet ready to settle down to a steady job.  Those old printer boys had the wanderlust bad, and they had to get it out of them before they were fit for anything practical.  During the civil war in the United States said tried to enlist in the northern army, but they wouldn’t take him because he was so long and thin that the quartermaster would never be able to furnish a uniform that would fit him.  Unfortunate Sid!  He might now be drawing $30.00 a month pension for stopping rebel bullets.  However, he does not need it, for fortune has dealt kindly with him and given him an elegant retreat away up in the aristocratic suburbs in Cleveland, on Easy street.
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After seening all that part of the world bounded by the United States Sid settled down in Troy New York and started a printing office of his own, taking his brother into partnership. Sid had developed a love for horses, and having time on his hands, he accepted the secretaryship of the driving park at Troy, which brought him much money and lots of fun.  This he held on to for many years, his brother taking care of the print shop.  One day he was in the city of New York, and as he was walking along the street, he thought he saw a man ahead of them who look like his old Dundas boss.  He walked quickly and passed him, and turning around he was convinced.  Going up to Mr. Somerville he addressed him: “Hello, Jim, how do you do!  How is everybody in Dundas?” Mr. Somerville put on a severe look and said to Sid: “ Young man, if you think you are going to bunko me, you have struck the wrong person.” “That is all right, Jim; but don’t you know Sid Gilles, who learned his trade in your print shop and Dundas on the old banner?” Mr. Somerville began to get interested now, and after asking Sid a few questions he was satisfied of his identity.  They spent the afternoon together very pleasantly, and had a hearty laugh at the idea of Mr. Somerville taking said for a bunko steerer.  Eight years ago Sydney Gilles lost the best friend that man ever had, a loving wife, leaving two daughters to mourn her death.  His health gave way shortly afterward.  At that time he was the secretary of the Cleveland writing park.  Having accumulated enough money to provide him with all the comforts and luxuries during his life, he retired from active business, and now spends his days and in dreaming the happy hours away.  He is in Hamilton, visiting his boyhood friend, John C Bale, and they’re having a happy time bringing back to memory the scenes of more than half a century ago.
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It is a rare thing to find a French or German family in indigent circumstances.  The average family will live on what an American or Canadian family wastes.  Savings banks statistics are sometimes quoted to show the thrift of the French people.  There are more there are more savings bank accounts in France and more small competences then in America, and yet the wages earned by the French are far less in proportion.  The national ideal in France is independence at or beyond middle age; they look forward to the period of earned leisure.  If a life of leisure beyond middle age may not be more desirable than dying in the harness, but it is very comforting to feel that you can quit work if you want to, and that you can keep the wolf from the door. The habits of thrift make eventual independence possible and probable serve to train the family to self-denial and to fortify its members against the disaster of financial mischance.  Those who live up to the last dollar, and are anxiously waiting for the next paycheck are always on the tightrope over a change, in momentary danger of losing their foothold.  The man who earns living wages or more, yet spends it as fast, if not faster, than he earns it, is always on the tightrope; while the men whose earning capacity a smaller, but whose capacity for thrift is larger, is always sure of his footing.  He may be sneered at for parsimonious habits, but by the time he is middle aged he can point to his bank book as the best evidence that his economical habits were not in vain.  He who is foolish enough to boast that it is better to spend one’s last dollar like a king and end up as a beggar, may live to see the day when as a spendthrift he has no standing in the community.  The patriotism of the Frenchman is a fine example of sentiment for his country.  When you can buy a government bond and laid it aside, he feels that he has become a partner in the government.  The young man or young woman who invests a small part of their earnings every month in providing a government annuity for old age is a better Canadian for their financial interest in the government.  When the city of Hamilton issued $100 bonds to sell to small investors, it was teaching a lesson of thrift and economy to the wage earners.  It takes patience and self-denial to lay by the first $100, but the second one will come easier because we have learned to do without many things that add not to our daily comfort.  Those $100 bonds paid good interest, and were a very desirable investment.  There’s never been a country in which the average man -meaning the man without inherited wealth, without special educational equipment, without influence - had a greater opportunity to get along than Canada offers.  But the proportion of families whose budget of expenses is well within the family income is not so large as it should be.  Hamilton began away back in the last century with a population of poor men, who had to count the cost of raising a family.  Their boys profited by the experience of the fathers, and with that native thrift incident to industry have made for themselves homes and comparative independence.  The prosperous ones had no money to invest in the bar rooms or to bet on horse racing.  If our Canadian boys would only study the thrift of the French or the German, they would become the richest and most independent people in the world, not merely in the amount of money possessed per capita, but in the matter of relief from hard work and want in old age.  It is an easy thing to sit down at a typewriter and draw beautified pictures of what the economy will do, but it is hard to persuade the average reader to do it.
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And the here’s an object lesson for the study of those who believe that immorality and whiskey can be controlled by law.  One night last week the body of an unfortunate woman was fished out of the Detroit River.  After a life spent in revelry, drunkenness and following the profession of the harlot, she had just sense enough left to take the fatal plunge and ended it all.  Poor Cecile!  She was the daughter of parents well-to-do, who gave her all the advantages of a higher education, and music and an art.  In her youth she had the entrée of the cultured and wealthy society of Detroit.  It was fashionable to sip wine, and as the appetite grow, to drink it; and from the wine to stronger liquors.  It took years to travel the course, but the end was always in sight.  She fell by the wayside.  From a happy home to the street and then to the police station, Cecile was an educated wreck who sank below her scarlet sisters to negro dives.  They travel the road quickly once they get into line.  Hearts that had been made sick by her profligate course reached out arms of affection and saved her from a pauper’s grave.  Of what avail was the law in the police court and the jail!  Prayers could not save her, for broken-hearted parents had tried that remedy when all else had failed.  Fining her or committing her to jail had no effect.  To pay her fine she returned to her avocation in the street.  And her case is only one without number.  Magistrate Jelfs or any member of the police department will tell you that a fine or jail sentence is of no avail; the unfortunates the Ceciles are back again in a few days.  They are outcasts in society, and their only thought is whiskey to drown their sorrow in disgrace.  In time they had no home except the jail, and when one sentence has been served, they go back in the street to be arrested again.  Why not provide a home, under restraint, instead of the fin or the jail for those unfortunates?  The appetite for strong drink or terrible lives can never be checked by law.  We license men to make drunkards and then punish the man or woman who gets drunk.  The young girls who parade the streets at night cannot always remain virtuous.  Some scoundrel is ready to pounce upon them at the opportune moment. Ponder on the sad end of the once accomplished Cecile!

Sunday, 15 March 2015

1911-07-11


“Jimmy” Dawson came as a boy with his parents to Hamilton in 1849. His parents were English, and so was Jimmy. They were blessed with poverty and a family of young children, and Jimmy had to hustle as soon as he was able to help the family lader. He attended a private school for a while, as Hamilton had no real public school till the Central was built. Jimmy was a worker, and while his pay check on Saturday night was limited, he turned every penny over to his mother. His father did not live many years after coming to Hamilton, and Jimmy became the right hand support of his good mother. There was not much work in ths days for boys, but he was always ready to turn his hand to anything that would come his way. He was never out of a job, for as soon as one thing closed up he was ready to jump into the next thing that opened. Jimmy was not particular as to choice of employment so long as it was work and money. He worked for a time with John Roberts, who kept a picture framing and carver and gilder shop on the north side of King street, opposite the Anglo-American hotel, and, being industrious and anxious to learn the trade, he became quite proficient. He also worked in the Banner bindery; but, it would make quite a catalogue to tell all he did work at. His best job was when he got a route on the Great Western railway to sell papers, magazines and books between Niagara Falls and Detroit. The old timers will remember Mr. Tunis, who had the monopoly of the route, and he was a generous employer, giving the train boys a liberal percentage on their sales. When the Toronto and Hamilton branch of the Great Western was opened, Jimmy changed his run because of the better opportunities, and continued on it till about two weeks before the Desjardins canal accident in March, 1857. Jimmy went back to work for John Roberts, and being skillful at the picture framing and gilding business, he thought his services were worth more than Roberts was willing to pay, especially as Hamilton was just then enjoying the opening months of the panic of 1857, and man and boy were lucky to get a job at any price. Hamilton boys were then looking with longing eyes to the country across the Niagara, so Jimmy bade goodbye to mother and the rest of his family and hiked away to the promised land. He was fortunate in striking a job in Buffalo, and in due course of time drifted down to New York.

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          Jimmy was something of an artist and got mixed up with the paints and brushes, and thus was his life career changed. He was never out of work, and being of good habits, never chasing beer schooners nor indulging in the sports that bring ruin to young men, he kept on climbing the ladder of fame and fortune. He became an expert as a restorer of oil paintings. He became well-established in New York, and his painstaking ability in that particular line of art brought him a fair share of wealth, and all the work he could do. We must not call him “Jimmy” now, but give him the title that his art entitles him, Professor James Dawson. After fifty-seven years’ absence from Hamilton, he returned this week to visit his boyhood home. When he hiked out, Hamilton was an overgrown village of less than 12,000; he returns to find it a prosperous industrial city of over 100,000. Everything has changed, even to old Corktown where he lived as a boy. He met his old friend John Brick, and together they lived over the times of sixty years ago in Corktown. During all the long years of his absence he had bright dreams of someday visiting Hamilton, but they never were realized until this week. He is now a man of seventy-four years, and looks as fresh and young as a boy of fifty. This Old Muser was with Prof. Dawson in the ancient volunteer fire department sixty years ago. He recalled the night of a fire in the third story of the Royal hotel, before the days of the waterworks when they could not raise a stream high enough to get at the fire. The boys of No. 6 picked up their engine and carried it upstairs and then put out the fire. The No. 6 is the old engine that is now used by the veteran firemen for holiday parades. We spent a pleasant hour talking over old times in Hamilton. The professor tarries only a short time in the city. He knows but few now, all of his boyhood friends have either hiked out as did he, or are quietly sleeping in the city cemeteries. Goodbye Jimmy, we may not meet again.                   

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We had a visit from another Hamilton boy a few days ago. He was born here and spent his boyhood and cash in three game birds to take home. About thirty-five years ago, he, too, took up his pilgrimage and landed in the city of Chicago, where he has continued to live. This was his first visit to his old home, although within eighteen hours’ ride of it. His relatives had passed away or moved out, and there was no special attraction for him to return. Thirty, forty and fifty years ago, Chicago was the promised land to Hamilton boys, and one could hardly walk the streets of that city without meeting someone from this old town. The printing offices were full of Hamilton printers, and three of the largest job offices in that city were owned by former Hamiltonians. Dick Donnelly, John B. Jeffrey and Tom Hines always had a job for a Hamilton boy. Our visitor of the other day was not a printer, but in whatever business he is associated he gave evidence of prosperity. He took advantage of the spring meeting of the Hamilton Jockey club to pay his old home a visit, being passionately fond of horses, and wanted to see a race in the home of his boyhood. He toured Canada down as far as Quebec before the races came off, and got here in time to enjoy his favourite pastime. When he struck Hamilton, he had a wad of bills running in figures toward a thousand, and being a bit of a sport, he bet on the bang tails, but he never seemed to be on the right side. Finally, he doled out his last hundred to the bookmakers, and when that was gone, he was ready to be gone too. Having a return ticket and a five dollar bill left, he invested a part of his cash in three game birds to take home with him to Chicago. He was as happy as a clam in high water, and promised this old Muser to come back next year to see how Hamilton is growing. He said his betting sin was the bang tails, but as he was comfortably fixed, his only dissipation was running a tilt with the bookmakers. He left with us his parting advice, which we were to hand out to the pony dopists, to keep away from the betting ring, for in the end, the gentlemanly bookmakers will get away with your wad, and, by the way, it was estimated that over a million and a quarter dollars changed hands during the recent races in this city, and that the bookmakers took most of it away from the Hamilton sports.

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One would think that with the whole of Lake Ontario to draw fresh, our park commissioners could afford to run the three or four fountains in the city during the warm, dry weather. Now and then they do turn on the water in the Gore park during the afternoon and evening, and how refreshing its cooling streams must be to the people who have none, of but few, of the pleasures of this world. The fountain in Wellington park on King street east stands there as dry as though it were in the deserts of Sahara, where a cup of cool water would be like a blessing from heaven. But that is not the worst phase of this cheap economy in the water supply. Down in Woodland park, a Mrs. Reid, an aged lady who had spent her long life in Hamilton, provided in her will for the erection of a fountain. And left $500 to pay for it. The fountain was built, and it is there yet, not a drop of water ever oozing from it. It seems the fountain got out of order and neither the parks board nor the controllers will pay the trifling amount it would cost to have it repaired. On the James street front of the Gore park, the drinking fountain that was donated to the city by one of its ancient residents, is used as a news stand at certain times, and is as dry as a powder horn, not a drop of water ever gurgling forth from it. Hamilton has a reputation for always giving a cold shoulder to bequests made to it, which is certainly not much encouragement to those who might like to do something for the old town. But to get back to the dry fountains. There is a whole lake full to draw from, and the cost but little. The people of Hamilton pay into the city treasury nearly $300,000 a year for the little water that is used to supply a population of 100,000, and yet the city is so mean about it that in hot weather they forbid its use for watering the lawns and flower beds of the householders who pay such heavy taxes for the little they use for domestic purposes. Open your heart, ye city controllers and park gentlemen, and for the few remaining weeks of the glad summertime, let the water gush forth from the dry fountains.

Sunday, 4 January 2015

1914-12-19



        How slowly Christmas comes to the young! They can hardly wait for its advent; but the time will come to them, as it has to the rest of us who have advanced in years, when the days and weeks and months will fly with electric speed, and no sooner will one Christmas pass than they will be making preparations for the coming one. Like a ship passing in the night, they glide by never to return. But here we are, right on the eve of Christmas, and hardly a sign of winter to remind us that Jack Frost and Santa are to pay their annual visits on runners and not on wheels. Instead of Canada being the Lady of the Snows, as Kipling once said, we are enjoying weather suitable to a reasonably mild winter resort. We are told somewhere in the good book that the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb; and may not this account for the mild weather that spares the coal bin to the unfortunate who has not a savings bank account to fall back upon, now that the pay envelopes from the factory are few and far between? (When this article was written atmospheric conditions were much milder than they are at present.) When Hamilton was just emerging from its infantile days, say sixty years ago, the winter began earlier, and at Christmas time the young people enjoyed sleigh rides to the merry jingle of sleigh bells. Out in the country, the churches and the Good Templars’ associations held their annual tea meetings and socials and invited their city cousins to partake of the feasts of reason and the flow of soul, but to be sure and not forget the quarter or half-dollar that was an essential sesame at the door. Young men did not have much money in those days, as wages were small, but they always managed to save up a little so as to chip in their share for a couple of seats in the bed of straw for their best girls and themselves. And then, muffled in blankets and buffalo robes, they defied old Jack Frost, and went skimming along the well-beaten snow roads to Ancaster or some one of the suburbs of the Ambitious City. Ah ! those were times never to come again to those who participated in them sixty years ago! Those were the happy days, when young people married early in life and became the staid citizens of the Hamilton of the future. Old maids and old bachelors were an unknown quantity, for every young man wanted a home of his own, with the girl he loved best to keep house for the both of them. The return of those days would be a blessing, and there would be fewer blasé young men and frivolous girls.

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Along in the middle of this month there was a good old-fashioned snow, and for two or three days there might have been excellent sleighing if horses had not gone out of date. Not a solitary jingle of a sleigh bell was to be heard in the clear and frosty air, day or night. Instead we had the raucous toot of the motor car as it sped at the rate of thirty or forty miles through the streets in what they called joy riding. Call that pleasure! It is not to be considered in the same calendar with old Dobbin and his string of silvery bells. When you and I were young, my ancient Hamiltonian, good sleighing was always looked forward to, by the merchants, especially about Christmas times, for then the farmers living from twenty to forty miles from Hamilton would bring in loads of dressed pork, poultry, butter, eggs and indeed produce of all kinds, and what they could not sell for cash, they traded with the merchants for goods. Money was a scarce commodity in those days, and if the farmer could only manage to get enough cash to pay his taxes and the interest on the mortgage on his farm, he felt fortunate and was perfectly willing to change his pigs and poultry for groceries and dry goods. There were but few farms that were not blanketed with a mortgage, but as the original price was small, the mortgage was correspondingly small. The sturdy farmers did not mind the mortgage a bit, for they had a sure thing on being able to pull through it. Farms that could have been bought sixty years ago from five to twenty dollars an acre have long ago passed the hundred dollar mark, and the farmers are not only rich, but the most independent men in Canada.

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In a large factory in Hamilton, a man who had fought under the Union Jack in foreign wars was holding a position as a bookkeeper, and as he was competent and trustworthy, he was in receipt of a good salary. The years were slipping by quickly, for he had passed the three score milepost and his hair was beginning to silver over with the frosts of time, and wisely he came to the conclusion that the time would come when his hands and his brain might lose their cunning in adding up columns of figures. Being a prudent man, blessed with wife and daughters who were not extravagant, he had lain by some of his salary each month, and learning of a twenty acre farm, with a comfortable house and barn, he made the purchase, and when the time came for him to leave the office, he moved on to his little farm. He is a practical man and not afraid of work, and not long ago he told the Muser that his little farm paid the expenses of his family and at the end of the season, he was able to lay by a little nest egg in the savings bank for a rainy day. How many industrious men in Hamilton, who are depending upon their daily labor to support their families but could do as our good friend the veteran soldier has done. To own a comfortable in the town costs, and then all the owner has is a bare home. Buy a bit of land with the same money, and you have not only a home but an assured living for your family by tilling the soil; then you are independent of bosses, and when hard times come and work in town is scarce, you can thank God for your little farm, with the luxuries as well as the necessities of times. In these troublous times, when the factory doors are closed and labor is a drug on the market, the owner of a farm, be it small or large, is the most independent of men, for everything he raises commands the cash and at prices that would the farmer of sixty years ago green with envy. But we started in to say something about the old-time Christmas, and here we are telling the story of an old soldier who put his money into a savings bank instead of squandering it, and now when the years have come upon him and his faithful wife, he can snap his fingers at hard times and sit down under his own vine and fig tree and smoke his pipe in perfect content that he and his family are provided for, let the business world wag as it will. Probably some others will take the hint and buy a bit of land, on part credit if they have not all of the money to pay down.

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While sitting under the droppings of the sanctuary last Sunday listening to an old Hamilton boy tell the simple story of the cross to a large congregation, the thought came, how many ministers of the Protestant churches, and of priests to Catholic churches have the workshops of Hamilton furnished to the pulpit? When we glance backwards, say a trifle of fifty and sixty years ago, in the days when revivals of religion came as regularly as the beginning of the new year, there was generally a shaking up among the boys, and after the Rev. James Caughey and Revs. James Elliott, Ephraim B. Harper and Jonathan Betts, of the Wesleyan church; and good old Faithful Shepard, the editor of the Christian advocate; Rev. William McClure, of the New Connexion church; Rev. William Stephenson, Primitive Methodist; Rev. Thomas Puller, Congregational church, and Rev. Alfred Booker, Baptist church, had spent a month or six weeks in exhorting, praying and singing, there were generally accessions to the church, and always from one to a half dozen fellows would be persuaded to study for the ministry. Blacksmith shops, carpenter shops, shoemaking and tailoring shops, machine shops, and, would you believe it, even printing offices would send their quota into the ministry. There was not a fortune in the business in those days to tempt the young fellows into the pulpit, for a minister to get a salary of $600 or $800 a year must have had superior talents for his job. Two of the most eloquent preachers that went from the workshop to the pulpit were blacksmiths, and lusty men they were at the forge or in a revival meeting. One of them has passed on to his reward; the other still watches and prays over one of the largest congregations in the city. Two of those old Hamilton boys occupied local pulpits last Sunday. One of them graduated from the Spectator office, and the other from Wanzer’s sewing machine factory. They were young when they quit the workshop, but now both of them have frosty heads, but hearts as young and loving for their fellowmen as when setting type or assembling a sewing machine. Both of them now hold commanding positions in the Wesleyan church, and if the bishops would only die or grow old we might someday hope to see the Rev. T. Albert Moore and Rev. Dr. Hincks presiding in concert over the general conference and making all the smaller lights stand from under the sound of the gavel. Not only have the Hamilton workshops sent young men into Protestant pulpits, but the Catholic church has been blessed with earnest young men who have devoted their lives to the work of the Master. There is one venerable minister of Centenary church who learned the printer’s art in England away back in the first half of last century who laid down the stick and rule more than fifty years ago and entered the Methodist ministry in the old country. He is now on the superannuated list, but the good brother can today tell the simple story of the cross with all the earnestness and vigor of his younger days. The workshops of Hamilton seem to have gone out of the pulpit business in these degenerate days, but probably it is because the churches have gone out of the revival business, so there is nothing to stir the boys to the call of duty.

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Speaking of Dr. Hincks and the Wanzer sewing machine factory brings to mind the days when Hamilton was the headquarters for the sewing machine business in Canada, and gave employment to an army of skilled workmen to manufacture machines that were equal to the best in the market. R. M. Wanzer came to Hamilton in the fall of 1859. He had been a Yankee schoolmaster and a jack-of-all-trades, but had some ideas that he thought worthwhile to put in practice. One of these was the sewing machine. He had heard of the fate of the first sewing machine introduced to Hamilton. The Lawson brothers kept a clothing store on the corner of King and James streets, at Treble’s present stand, and thinking they could help business and make a little more money for themselves as well as for their tailors, they bought a couple of machines in the United States and hired an expert to come over to teach their men how to run them. The tailors would have none of them, but went out on strike. They said the machines would ruin the tailor trade, and their families would starve for bread. The Lawsons tried persuasion, but it was useless. Finally, the men triumphed and the machines were laid aside for a time. It took quite a while to overcome the men’s prejudice, but, by degrees, they learned that they could make even more money on a suit by running up the seams on a machine; and at last the machines were restored to the workroom, and from that day the tailors adopted it into the family of Sartorus. Well, Mr. Wanzer heard this little bit of history, but being a man who never turned his back when once he turned his hand to the plow, he rented the stone building on the corner of James and Vine and began the manufacture of machine. It took a week to turn out the first machine, that being the excellent of the factory. In the next three weeks, he finished four more, and then loading them in a wagon, he started out himself to peddle them around the country. He had to explain to the farmers’ wives the usefulness of the machine, but like the tailors in the Lawsons’ clothing store, they were hard to be convinced. The mothers had never used such folderol, and the old way of sewing by hand was good enough for them. It took Mr. Wanzer a week to sell his four machines; but he got the ball rolling, and by the time he had four more ready for the market he found it easier to persuade the farmers’ wives into buying them on the installment plan. This was the beginning of one of Hamilton’s infant industries, and if capitalists had only been wise, the sewing machine industry in Hamilton might have been the leading one today, furnishing work to thousands of men. From the small factory on James street to the large factory on the corner of King and Catharine streets where the Dominion Power company’s handsome terminal station now stands, was a necessary change to accommodate the growing business. The Wanzer machine had a large sale in Great Britain, South America, the West Indies, Germany and the continent. At the Vienna exposition in 1873, the Japanese commissioners became interested in the Canadian novelty, and in time, thousands of machines were shipped to Japan.

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From the small beginning of one machine a week, the trade grew in Hamilton to not less than two thousand a week, with six or seven factories in full operation. One by one the factories faded away, and it was but a few years till the original Wanzer was the only one left – and in time that closed its doors forever. The last Wanzer factory, down on Barton street, was a three story building covering nearly one block. As the sewing machine began to fade out, Mr. Wanzer turned his attention to the manufacture of a patent coal oil lamp, which did not prove to be a successful seller. At one time, Mr. Wanzer was among the wealthiest men in Hamilton, and occupied as his home a handsome house in the center of the square now occupied by the collegiate institute. No one seems to be able to account for the decline of the sewing machine trade in Hamilton; but like other enterprises that might have been of great value as manufacturing industries, it was allowed to die out. Hamilton capitalists prefer to send their money away to invest in foreign enterprises.